Walking with my furry boy, Blue, is an adventure, one that requires my undivided-attention tool. Though a shepherd mix, Blue has the nose of a hound and the eyes of a hawk. To manage, I must stay alert to every
single thing in our path be it the rabbit nest beneath the seemingly flat bed of leaves under the old oak in the middle of the field or the opossum, its back burdened by its young, lumbering along the edge of the underbrush. Were I to fail in noticing and redirecting, Blue would bark and howl and quickly give chase dragging me perilously along
behind him at the far end of the leash.

Blue loves the smell of pine and spruce and always rubs his back under their low hanging branches especially when they’re still wet with rain. Then, he’ll run out and shake his smokey grey and black mottled coat in a frenzy leaving my face splattered with scented water. Blue even takes care of his own scent which is why I must have perfect timing when bagging his droppings because after he’s relieved himself he’ll brusquely kick back any loose grass, dirt or mud all over my clothes in his attempt to cover his pile. Blue’s favorite smells, however, are the putrid ones. Those that draw his nose with unguarded abandon are the rotting dead and the, freshly excreted, exotic poo. Both of these he will fetch and/or chomp and/or roll in and/or drop unceremoniously at my feet. All these gifts and more I’d miss without my furry boy, Blue.

From Blue’s perspective:

Shake me a little water on thy face
And kick up my sole’s dirt on thy blouse;
Find spoiled companions, a treasure trove,
And bring them ’round and spread them right;
Arroo… untamed in the rabbit bed fields
And quake the wobbling opossum huddled there.
Sniff out ‘Effluvia!’ Lo, thou should trot fast
To glean the freshest scents of rarest worth,
Bring I good things to thee.

From: Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night (Act 1, Scene 5)

Make me a willow cabin at your gate
And call upon my soul within the house;
Write loyal cantons of contemned love
And sing them loud even in the dead of night;
Halloo your name to the reverberate hills
And make the babbling gossip of the air
Cry out ‘Olivia!’ O, you should not rest
Between the elements of air and earth,
But you should pity me.